


Bloom

by reg_slivko



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (with a twist lol), Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Fanart, Fluff, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Sassy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sex Pollen, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, and by slightly I mean a lot, just so much sass honestly, slightly more book and games geralt than netflix geralt, which is just a long way of saying there's gonna be lots of Bantz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reg_slivko/pseuds/reg_slivko
Summary: Geralt is contracted to keep watch over a crop that only blooms every few years at the height of midsummer, and which is surrounded by legends of magical properties related to... virility, to put it in euphemistic terms.  He brings Jaskier along for companionship and doesn't consider that the legends might be true.  Shenanigans, mostly pining-related, ensue.//Written for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini-Bang and includes some incredible, NSFW artwork by DisturbedButGorgeous.  Seriously, it's beautiful so even if you hate my fic just get in here and check out the art it's worth it!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 454
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	Bloom

Like it always did, it began rather innocently. Geralt had no interest in going to the legendary valley, but money had taken him to unwanted places many times before, and certainly would again.

“Reckon the legends are true?” Jaskier asked from beside Roach.

“If they were true, they wouldn’t call them legends,” Geralt offered.

“You’ve seen a lot of legendary things turn out to be true,” Jaskier frowned, “so that’s rich, coming from you.”

“And I’ve seen a lot of people put their faith in undeserving things,” Geralt added.

“Well, we’ve all seen that,” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

 _Some of us more than others,_ Geralt thought to himself.

The contract was a little bit out of Geralt’s wheelhouse-- well, really, it was exactly in his wheelhouse because it was paid work, but Geralt had usually taken on more of an offensive role rather than defensive. And yet, here he was, getting paid to protect crops from robbers and monsters alike. Apparently a Witcher’s expertise was needed due to the alleged magical properties of the crop, but Geralt was almost entirely sure that it was wishful thinking because he’d never heard of the plant before. Being immune to them, he wasn’t exactly well-versed in magical ingredients, but he had seen a lot of ‘miracle cures’ come and go in his time. Those claiming to target virility were always the most worthy of suspicion. Nobody was willing to shell out coin quite like old men terrified of losing masculinity, so a plant promising to increase sexual stamina was exactly the sort of nonsense Geralt avoided. Except when he was getting paid this much to guard the crops. Then he was very interested.

It was an uneventful journey, all the same trappings of travel as the pair were used to-- musty inns, cheap brothels, prejudiced locals-- but thankfully with some exceptionally beautiful views along the way.

“The mountains over that way,” Geralt motioned generally, “are what keep the rainstorms at bay. It’s why this side is nearly a desert--”

“--and that side is lush with flowers,” Jaskier finished.

“You sound like you’ve actually paid attention to my geographical ramblings,” Geralt praised.

“You think because you’ve lived so long that you must know everything,” Jaskier rolled his eyes, “but I was taught with books even older than you. And almost as leathery.”

“Are you referring to my armour or my skin?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier simply smiled to himself because he’d never known him to be so insecure… at least in regards to his appearance. 

“Should be just beyond the forest,” Geralt suggested after briefly consulting his map. “We’ve nearly made it.”

“Let’s hope this pays better than I’m remembering,” Jaskier frowned, “because this journey was especially torturous.”

“The actual task is going to be much easier,” Geralt soothed. “All we have to do is camp here and scare off potential robbers.”

“All _I_ have to do is camp here. All _you_ have to do is scare off potential robbers.”

Geralt did that sigh which Jaskier had learned to translate as ‘you’re right but I would never say it’ and that was the last thing they said before reaching the other side of the treeline.

Sure enough, just as soon as the trees parted, it was bright yellow as far as the eye could see; the flowers rippled in the wind like waves of gold.

“You didn’t say the crop was flowers!”

“Didn’t I?” Geralt pondered, but Jaskier was already off, dashing forward to, for lack of a better word, frolic through the field. He watched him go, wincing a bit when he tripped and tumbled down, but was quietly relieved when he heard the bard laughing rather than howling in pain.

Now was as good a time as any to pitch a tent, Geralt figured. Jaskier came back at some point, winded despite having conveniently missed all the work of making camp, but thankfully made himself useful by putting a kettle on the fire.

“You’re covered in pollen,” Geralt observed, realizing that the yellow powder made his blue tunic look almost green.

“Worth it,” Jaskier smiled. “Free perfume, right? The flowers smell incredible.”

“I can’t smell anything,” Geralt realized. 

Jaskier laughed a little. “Never thought I’d be able to beat Witcher senses!”

And that should’ve been Geralt’s first indication that something was horribly wrong, but it wasn’t, because he was distracted by having a cup of tea poured for him.

~

An uneventful day: Geralt’s most treasured gift, the bane of Jaskier’s existence. The former laid quietly on his bedroll in his nightclothes (which were simply cotton trousers) while the latter strummed at his lute beside the fire. He hadn’t realized that he was even paying attention to the music until it started to sound oddly off-beat and out of key. Geralt was almost preparing to say something when Jaskier spoke first as his playing stopped abruptly.

“Geralt, do you feel… strange, at all?” Jaskier asked with a wavering voice.

“No more than usual.” Geralt turned and looked at the bard to find him looking flushed and uncomfortable, adjusting his doublet like he needed air. “Maybe you need some water.”

“Yes,” Jaskier agreed, but when he picked up his cup that he’d filled at the stream, instead of drinking from it he splashed it on himself. 

Geralt had more trouble than he’d expected not reacting to the way he looked dripping with water, eyes closed and mouth slack as he took deep but quick breaths.

“Gods, how’s it hotter after sunset than before?”

“It’s not,” Geralt frowned, “it’s cooler now.”

“Then why am I burning up?”

“Aren’t you always?” Geralt wondered aloud, remembering the times they’d shared a bed and how hot Jaskier’s body was, like a constant furnace. It wasn’t unique to him of course, all humans seemed to have that trait, but he never understood how they weren’t always sweating.

Jaskier laughed a little, clearly interpreting Geralt’s comment as some sort of compliment to his sexual prowess (because in his mind, everything was a compliment to his sexual prowess). “Not quite like this.”

“Just get some rest then,” Geralt shrugged, “you’re tired from walking.”

“Oh yeah, I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Yours for being so out of shape,” he scoffed in reply, turning on his side on the bedroll and hoping for some sleep.

His hopes were dashed rather quickly. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered into the darkness. “ _Geralt_ , I know you can hear me.”

“What?” Geralt finally responded.

“Are you awake?”

“That, or I’m having a rather annoying dream,” he groaned in reply.

“I can’t sleep,” Jaskier explained.

“Neither can I, anymore.”

“I feel funny.”

“Well, you’re not funny. Does that help at all?”

Jaskier sighed, and Geralt could hear the way his breath wavered, and his heartbeat quickened, and for the first time he was actually getting concerned.

“Jaskier…” Geralt began with a furrowed brow, not that it could be seen in the dark.

“Say that again,” Jaskier requested weakly.

“Say… your name again?”

“Please.”

Geralt heard Jaskier moving on his bedroll. He sensed a shift in the air though he doubted that it was exactly as suggestive as he was imagining. Certainly not.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated, his voice low and gravelly.

He felt the weight of his bed shift as the bard sat beside where he was laying. “It sounds different, the way you say it,” Jaskier explained. “How did I not notice that before?”

“Say what?”

“My name.”

Geralt was only partially sure why he’d want to hear it again, and he honestly didn’t mean for it to come out as husky, as sensual as it did, but it did. “ _Jaskier._ ”

The bard shivered, and suddenly nimble yet calloused fingers were gliding along Geralt’s chest. “Ohhh gods, say it like that one more time, please.”

Geralt, suddenly losing interest in this back-and-forth, sat up with renewed concern. But before he could ask what the hell was going on, Jaskier was suddenly on him; as Jaskier leaned forward, Geralt leaned back. 

“You’re unwell,” Geralt presumed. 

“I just need you to make me feel better,” Jaskier pleaded.

“I don’t think I can. Not this way.”

Jaskier’s fingers trailed over Geralt’s skin again, brushing over a few scars on their way. Geralt never shivered from the cold, but he did at the man’s touch even though it was actually rather hot.

Geralt hadn’t noticed that Jaskier was straddling one of his legs until he rubbed himself on it, feeling the hard outline of the bard’s cock on the skin of his thigh.

“I was careless,” Geralt realized. “The flowers-- I should’ve known that they were more likely to affect you. They must have needed a Witcher to guard them because of our immunities--”

Geralt’s diatribe was interrupted by another whine from the bard.

“Please,” Jaskier whimpered, “please please please please-”

“Quit that.”

“I just need you so badly-- just once, I need you inside me--”

Geralt quickly cupped a hand over his mouth, his eyes clenching shut tightly.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Or what?” Jaskier asked, as if he actually didn’t know, with a muffled voice.

“Or I’ll lose my resolve,” Geralt shivered.

Jaskier didn’t even mean to roll his hips against Geralt’s thigh, but he did, and the second the sensation hit his brain he was doing it again, moaning softly against Geralt’s mildly-clammy palm.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind,” Geralt assured, speaking more to himself than to anyone else.

“No, no, if anything I’m thinking clearly for the first time in years.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be rubbing yourself on my thigh right now.”

Jaskier gripped at Geralt’s bare shoulders, pulling him closer until there was a dangerous lack of proximity between their faces.

“Forget that I’ve apparently been poisoned by magical flowers,” Jaskier demanded. “Forget all these years of us never talking about anything important. Forget whatever you think is right or wrong or acceptable or normal.”

Geralt was trying to focus on his words and not the way his voice was low and smooth and nearly a moan.

“Without all of that,” Jaskier concluded, “...do you want me?”

Geralt cleared his throat but couldn’t answer. Maybe a lack of an answer would be answer enough.

“I need you to say it,” Jaskier pressed. “I need to know that it’s not just me going crazy.”

Of course he was going crazy, he was high on pollen, but he wasn’t wrong either. Geralt figured he’d been less subtle than he intended to be. They never talked about it, but maybe they both knew.

Didn’t make it any easier to say out loud.

For all his heightened mutant senses and powerful intuition, he was still shocked when he felt lips against his own, gentle and undemanding. 

“Say it,” Jaskier mumbled, the sound nearly lost in Geralt’s mouth.

“I want you,” Geralt relented before he knew how to stop himself. Pulling the man into him, he kissed him deeply before falling back with him onto the ground.

~

Jaskier was used to cold mornings of realization. He’d be a good person to talk to for advice right now, except that he was still asleep as well as the subject of the issue at hand.

Instead, Geralt woke before the sunrise and took the opportunity to bathe quickly in the creek. He normally didn’t bathe in the mornings, but with the night he’d had, it was a necessity.

He took his time as he washed in the clear water, though the silence of the forest didn’t soothe him like it normally did. Instead, he felt alone with his thoughts, which was more damaging than usual.

Jaskier had been much too eager to leave any room for doubt: he was under the influence of something and Geralt had been cruel to exploit that. Why hadn’t he resisted more firmly? Sure, the bard had been pretty adamant, but it wasn’t like he ever thought he’d jump him or something-- and even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t even have taken half of Geralt’s strength to overpower him, tie him to a tree for the night while he found an antidote to the flower’s effects.

The thought of Jaskier jumping him was much too interesting to Geralt. The thought of him tied to a tree was even worse.

Geralt grumbled to himself a bit as he splashed water on his face. He’d made inadvisable decisions due to his libido before-- who hadn’t, right?-- but this was beyond the pale. Jaskier was his _friend_ and he’d used his sickness for his own gain instead of helping him.

Well, Jaskier had said that it would help him. That was why he did it. But he shouldn’t have. His intentions were good… not altruistic or anything, but certainly good. Good intentions, as Geralt had been so unfortunate to learn as often as he had, were often not enough.

At a certain point he realized he was no longer savoring a nice cool bath and instead just stalling his return to camp. With a sigh, he dressed and made his way back, his gut filling with dread as he contemplated what he would say when he was confronted with the man whose trust he had violated. Among other things.

Jaskier was awake when he returned, but uncharacteristically quiet. Instead of fiddling with the lute he was reading a book, one Geralt hadn’t even realized he’d brought on the trip. Geralt adjusted his clothes awkwardly before breaking the silence. 

“Are you… feeling better?”

Gods, hours of preparing what he would say and that was all he had come up with?

Jaskier nodded, but said nothing. Geralt knew that was a bad sign, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better. Surely there wasn’t much he could say to make it better-- in fact, he had the distinct feeling that if he opened his mouth, it would just make it worse.

“Geralt…” Jaskier finally mumbled, though he trailed off into silence again.

“Hm?” Geralt prompted, feeling oddly nervous and wishing he had just let him not say anything because surely he had nothing to say that would be enjoyable to hear.

Jaskier cleared his throat before continuing. “I just wanted to say: thank you. For last night, I mean.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “You’re still affected by the pollen. I thought maybe you could sleep it off…”

“You think I’m sick?”

“I can’t imagine any other explanation,” Geralt said coldly.

“I should see a healer,” Jaskier decided, sitting down and looking a bit crestfallen.

“There can’t be one too far, I’ll take you--”

“No.” Jaskier interrupted sharply, but softened a bit after seeing Geralt’s surprised expression. “Er, perhaps it’s best that I go alone.”

“You’re sure you won’t have any… episodes? On your journey?” 

Jaskier’s face turned a bit red as he looked down, suddenly fascinated with his boot as it drew figure-eights in the dirt. “Well, I guess that’s a risk I have to be willing to take.”

“Maybe there’ll be a brothel on the way--”  
“Maybe we should end this discussion before it gets any more excruciating,” Jaskier suggested quickly. Geralt nodded in agreement.

He let him take Roach, which surprised both of them (all three, really, though Roach took to him quickly). Geralt felt a little anxious when he didn’t have a horse around, knowing he was all but trapped in this field until Jaskier returned, but it was the least he could do. After months-- oh fuck it, _years_ \-- of stealing glances at his best friend when he know he shouldn’t, of fantasizing about him in ways that were all kinds of wrong, Geralt had let him get drugged and horned up until he couldn’t say no and what had he done? He’d seen it as an _opportunity_ , the monster he was, and he was amazed Jaskier could even look at him. He barely could, honestly, with the way he’d been shifting around during their very brief ‘about last night’ talk. 

If Geralt had been struggling with the silence of his bath, then the silence of the rest of the day was unbearable. He had never exactly forgotten how dull travel was without Jaskier by his side, but now was an especially poor time to be reminded of it. He considered multiple times that he might not even come back, and that it would be beyond justified. That would be hell, having to sit in silence for the rest of his miserable life. All the time he’d spent trying to get the man to shut up and now all he wished for was to hear him speak again…

So of course when he returned just before sunset, he would be stubbornly resistant to conversation. Because that was just the luck that Geralt seemed to have.

“You’re back!” Geralt announced, jumping up from his seat to watch Jaskier come back through the treeline. It was odd to see him so tall on horseback, for some reason. “It’s late, I feared you were delayed and would be riding in the dark.”

He said nothing. The statement didn’t require a response necessarily, but Geralt would’ve preferred one.

“Was… was there a healer in town?” Geralt prompted.

Jaskier jumped off of Roach, giving her head a quick pat before working on tying her reins to a branch. “Yes,” he answered curtly.

“One with a knowledge of magical ingredients?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Geralt frowned. “He had time to see you?”  
“She, but yes.”

“And you… met with her?”

“Yep.”

“Damn it, bard, tell me what she said!” Geralt snapped, instantly regretting it. He opened his mouth hoping an apology would form there on its own but Jaskier brushed it off quickly.

“We can talk about it another time. I’m cured.” Jaskier said it so casually as he sat down on the ground, pulling his lute from his back to pluck at it.

“That’s… that’s it? You’re here aren’t you, will you breathe it in again and start this all over?”  
“It’s no matter.”

“It’s quite a matter! At least, it matters to me.”

Jaskier seemed taken aback by that.

“I worry for you,” Geralt explained.

Jaskier scoffed and looked to the setting sun. Geralt hated the way his eyes reflected in the sunlight like that, so blue and bright to make even the sky or the ocean jealous. He loved it, really, but he hated it, too. Especially now, knowing those eyes wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“Yes, that was the impression I got,” he finally responded. “You’re a good friend. You did me a--” he cleared his throat and his voice almost sounded emotional for a moment-- “you did me quite the favour.”  
His words sounded kind but his tone was angry. Not a raging, hot anger, but cold and still. The notes that wafted from his lute almost sounded irritated as well, or maybe it was just the tinny aggression that they were being played with.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Jaskier. If not for your sake then mine. You don’t owe me anything-- gods, you certainly are free to hate me if you’d like to-- but for everything we’ve been through, I’d hope you can tell me the truth.”

They both took deep breaths then, but Jaskier’s was much steadier which bothered Geralt silently.

“It turns out they really were just legends,” Jaskier explained. “The flowers, they don’t do anything. They’re just… flowers.”

“Just flowers?”

“Yep,” Jaskier nodded with a little broken smile as he turned away from the sun, looking at the crop instead. “No magical, medicinal or otherwise exceptional properties. But it turns out that simply the belief that they do something can have a rather strong effect on someone, if they believe it enough.”

Geralt nodded slowly, exhaling but saying nothing. 

“And, of course,” Jaskier added with a voice that only gave away a small portion of his nervousness, “feelings… often get in the way…”

“So basically, the real magic was the friendships we made along the way?”

“Your friendships are a lot more sexual than mine,” Jaskier groaned, “and that’s saying something. I’ve never fucked a friend like that.”

“Maybe you should. It’s a lot of fun.”

Even Geralt, oblivious as he could be, felt the air shift when he said that. Suddenly it wasn’t just banter like it had always been before. It was too personal for that. And he was almost willing to let it continue, but suddenly it seemed like the words were spilling out before he could stop himself.

“It wasn’t just fun to me,” Geralt quickly added. “I know everything is fun to you, but--”

“It wasn’t just fun to me, either,” Jaskier interrupted, and Geralt studied the way his face flushed as he said it. “It was fun. But it wasn’t _just_ fun.”

“Pull your bedroll next to mine,” Geralt suggested. “If you’d like to.”

“You think we’re ready for that step?” Jaskier asked with a smile.

“A decade of friendship, a night of amazing sex-- yeah, I think we’re almost there.”

“Amazing? You flatter me.”

“No, _I_ was amazing.”

“Is that so?”

“You seemed to be having a good time.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier laughed as he flopped back onto the bedroll, “that I was.”

~

It was a peaceful night, though not a quiet one. They stayed up late talking about… anything, as their conversations tended to wander aimlessly across a variety of topics. 

Geralt didn’t remember falling asleep, so he was pretty surprised to wake up with the sun already a hand’s length high in the sky, and his bed partner gone.

A trip to the creek found Jaskier bathing now, ornate clothes laid over a branch for him to change into when he was done. He put so much more thought into little things like that than Geralt did.

Jaskier jumped when he realized he was being watched.

“Gods, Geralt, you can’t scare me like that,” he scolded as he clutched his bare chest.

“Apparently, I can.”

“You’re insufferable,” Jaskier shook his head, but Geralt had stopped paying attention as he let his eyes wander over the other man’s body. “Don’t get so hot and bothered,” Jaskier discouraged when he noticed, “nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“But something I’ve never taken the time to appreciate before.”

“Ha, fair enough,” Jaskier laughed. “Get your eyeful. But it’s sort of unfair with you still being dressed.”

Geralt never stood for unfairness. But he didn’t just strip and join Jaskier in the water, no, he had better ideas.

“What are you doing?!” Jaskier squealed as Geralt scooped him into his arms.

“You’re clean enough for now, it’s time to get you dirty again.”

“Hm, shouldn’t be too difficult,” Jaskier smirked.

He still struggled when he realized Geralt was carrying him past camp and into the fields.

“Geralt, what are you doing?”  
“You looked cute running through the flowers,” he remembered, “and you seem like the kind of person who would enjoy doing it again nude.”

“It sounds a little humiliating, actually,” Jaskier frowned as Geralt set him down.

“Humour me.”

Jaskier crossed his arms but relented, turning with a smile as he finally admitted to himself that it did sound like lots of fun. It was a way to combine all his favourite midsummer pastimes: running around in open fields, tanning, and making questionable decisions while nude.

He dashed off and Geralt admired the careless freedom that seemed to emanate from him in that moment. He actually laughed as he watched him run until he was a speck in the distance, and he really hoped that Jaskier didn’t hear it.

“HOW DO I LOOK?” Jaskier’s yell was nearly inaudible from across the field-- at least it would’ve been to someone without the convenience of enhanced hearing.

“YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS,” Geralt shouted back, and the smudgy distant form of the bard seemed to shoo the comment away with a dismissive hand wave. 

Geralt didn’t realise Jaskier was running back until halfway into it, and he didn’t realise that he was coming right at him until it was just a little too late.

“Jaskier, wait, wait _wait--_ ” but it was no use, and as he was tackled to the ground, they both fell right into the flowers.

“Gods,” Geralt groaned, “you’re stronger than you look.”

“You’re not as tough as you look, clearly,” Jaskier huffed.

Geralt was about to say something, but when he looked at Jaskier again, he found something unidentifiable in his expression.

“All this time,” Jaskier laughed to himself, “I loved you all this time, and now you’re here.”

“I was always here.”

“But now you’re _here_.”

Geralt rolled his eyes; he couldn’t escape the poetry with this one. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I was waiting for the right time!”

Geralt smiled, something he didn’t do very often, as the bard laid his body on top of him. 

“Well, how about now?”

“No, I’d better not--”

Geralt got a little more stern, gripping Jaskier’s wrist-- not hard enough hurt, just a reminder that he wanted him to stay. “Say it. Say that you love me.” 

Jaskier smirked but didn’t respond. Geralt shifted tactics in response, leaning his head in to kiss Jaskier’s neck. He moaned but still didn’t say it. The kiss trailed to his mouth and Geralt forgot what he had been asking for, just pulling him closer instead.

Some unknowable amount of time later, Geralt rolled Jaskier onto his back, smiling when he felt legs wrap around his hips.

“You’re sure it’s not just the flowers that make you want me?” Geralt asked quietly as he moved to bite lightly at Jaskier’s ear, shoulder, clavicle...

“Wanted you far too long for that to be true,” Jaskier answered breathlessly.

Desperate for a taste of him, Geralt wasted no time trailing his kisses until he was at Jaskier’s hips, smiling at the arousal he found there.

“Enjoying yourself?” Geralt asked coyly.

“You pick the worst times to get talkative,” Jaskier shook his head. One long lick up his shaft shut him up though, mouth falling slack in a silent gasp.

It’d been a while since Geralt had done this to somebody but he figured that he couldn’t screw it up that bad as long as he didn’t scrape him up with his teeth. Jaskier’s fingers twisted into Geralt’s silver locks and tugged encouragingly. Not that Geralt needed much encouragement, already feeling the head of his cock hitting his throat.

He would’ve done it more but his own need was growing impossible to ignore, and he wanted to avoid rubbing his hips on the ground because then he would get the earth on his dick which just sounded like so much more trouble than it was worth.

“Need to fuck you,” he explained quickly as he stopped his work, making his way back up his body again.

“I won’t stop you,” Jaskier smiled.

Geralt sat up and pushed the bard’s knees into his chest, appreciating how perfect and whorish he looked this way. He looked even better, though, as Geralt pushed his cock into him.  
A slender hand on his thigh guided his pace, and Geralt breathed through his teeth as he became absorbed in the feeling of it all.

With a hefty dose of patience, he was able to finally get completely inside, burying himself to the base and nearly moaning as he did it.

“Yes,” Jaskier hissed, his head falling back to the ground as little waves of hair framed his head like a halo-- especially when the sunlight reflected off of it golden-red the way it did. His nimble fingers came to rest on Geralt’s biceps, not quite pushing him back but still bracing the both of them. He was almost considering slowing down until Jaskier murmured a well-timed “ _more, please_ ,” and Geralt was helpless but to oblige.

Using one arm to hook a leg, he placed it on top of his shoulder, pushing in deeper. Jaskier gasped and bit his lip.

“Fuck, I love you,” Jaskier finally relented. Geralt smiled, leaning down and pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“Say it one more time, just for me,” Geralt requested softly. Jaskier’s hand held Geralt’s jaw tenderly, with much more gentleness than the man or the situation merited.

“I love you,” he whispered.

So, maybe they didn’t protect the crop so well, trampling so much of it with their frolicking and leaving a suspicious patch of flattened stems right in the middle, but it was the best summer Geralt could remember in a hundred-something years.


End file.
